


snowcones for breakfast

by themayflynans



Series: here we have [5]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic, Insecurity, Jet lag strikes again, M/M, Romance, Saint Petersburg, Slice of Life, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-04 00:43:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13352898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themayflynans/pseuds/themayflynans
Summary: Victor wakes up alone in bed the morning after Yuuri's arrival in Saint Petersburg.





	snowcones for breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Day 5 of [domesticvictuuriweek](http://domesticvictuuriweek.tumblr.com) for the prompt "Snow".
> 
> As always, endless thanks to the very best [Kitsunebi_UK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsunebi_UK/pseuds/Kitsunebi_UK) for the beta!
> 
> Check out the end notes for a couple of translation notes, a few reference photos and other neat things I looked up for this installment of the series.

Victor wakes, eyes opening as swiftly as if from blinking.

The ceiling and hanging light fixtures of his bedroom fill his vision, awash in the muted blue-grey tones of pre-dawn light. The shape of them is strangely flat and circular from where he lies right below, lengthening along the axis of their supporting rods the further away they are from the bed. Combined with the utter stillness of the room and the silence of the apartment beyond, the world feels as though it’s idling in the liminal sliver of time before the day is set to begin.

He is on his back. One arm lies across his belly, the other splayed over on the other side of the bed, hand resting in a sleeping Makkachin’s coarse fur. Otherwise, he is alone.

He sits up and runs a hand through his hair, thin covers slipping down his torso and gathering in his lap. The covers are wholly unnecessary; the house is perfectly warm and toasty. But he’d gotten used to the weight of a blanket on his legs in Hasetsu because of the cold draft in his room at Yuuri’s house, and can no longer sleep without it.

Yuuri...Where is Yuuri?

He looks over to what had finally become someone’s—Yuuri’s, only Yuuri’s—side of the bed last night, over the lump of Makka’s curled-up form, and sees that Yuuri's phone is missing, in addition to the set of keys Victor had given him yesterday.

“Yuuri?” he calls out softly, and then again a bit louder. There is no response. Though the darkness filtering in through the grey curtains of his bedroom window makes it seem much earlier than it actually is, it's still only morning. His apartment is airy and quiet and not very big. Yuuri would have heard him if he were here.

Yuuri’s unpacked suitcase still sits up against the window, but something unpleasant begins stirring in Victor’s belly in spite of himself. Where could Yuuri have gone on a dark winter’s morning in a brand-new city? The rink, perhaps? Already? They are not set to start training there for a couple of days yet, to give Yuuri time to settle in.

A sense of unreality briefly overtakes him, helped along by the colorlessness and oppressive silence of the hour, as he stares at Yuuri’s suitcase. There it is, physical proof that Yuuri really had flown to and landed in St. Petersburg yesterday just as he said he would, had slept in this bed last night, hard and bony and  _really actually here—_ but there is no Yuuri here now. The thought comes to him that perhaps Yuuri unpacked all of his belongings and repacked them into _another_ suitcase and took that one with him, and that the one he is looking at by the window is empty. He _knows_ it’s utterly ludicrous as he thinks it, and yet…

Victor knows Yuuri loves him, had been the one to suggest that he come live here in the first place to make their new coach-competitor arrangement work inside of their new shared life. He had listened to Yuuri’s hopes and fears spill out of him after the Grand Prix Final like water from a broken dam, every scrap of anxiety that had snowballed and led to that fateful evening after his Short Program and spurred him on to rashly suggest that they end _this_ —the coaching, the skating, the engagement, all of it.

He had accepted Yuuri’s apology and accepted it wholeheartedly, joyfully, with open arms.

But.

But Yuuri isn’t here. Is he having second thoughts about coming? Is he thinking about _leaving_? Will Victor be doomed to an eternity of reliving thousands of identical Saint Petersburg mornings past, waking up in this too-large bed and this too-warm room with Makkachin, until she, too, leaves him?

Fighting the rising panic in his chest, he tosses the covers aside and scrambles out of bed. He tries, and fails, to force himself to detach from his emotions—his time with Yuuri had brought them all so close to the surface—as he walks to the low table set against the wall where he’d left his phone to charge late last night before crashing into bed with Yuuri.

He holds his breath and screws his eyes shut as he presses the power button on his phone. He takes a moment to steel himself before he opens his eyes; when he does, it takes a second for them to adjust to the blinding brightness of his phone screen.  

The relief that washes over him is so powerful and comes on so quickly that he feels dizzy, his breath rushing out of him all at once.

There, on the screen, are two texts from Yuuri:

**_8:23am_**

_Good morning Victor ♡ if I’m not back by the time you see this, I’m up on the roof with some coffee in a thermos and a very bad case of jet lag. It snowed last night!_

**_8:24am_ **

_Well, it’s still night even though it’s morning. I just looked it up and I can’t believe I didn’t know you only get 7 hours of daylight in the winter??? Come join me. I don’t want to disturb you but I would love to share our first sunrise here together._

Victor is halfway to the front door before he realizes he needs to pee, has terrible morning breath, and is wearing not one stitch of clothing. Trembling as the adrenaline-fuelled panic drains from his body, he heads to the bathroom to freshen up.

When he’s finished, he returns to the bedroom and throws on a pair of sweats, a parka, and a pair of classic Uggs that Yuuri had been absolutely floored to see that he owned. _That...must at least be right up there with my tie on the list of fashion crimes,_ Yuuri had said, biting his lip to keep from laughing. _We’ll see who's laughing when you need to put on three pairs of socks to take Makka out for a walk_ , Victor had huffed in response.

 

* * *

 

Victor has never been on the roof of his building before.

Though the sun rises on the side of the building opposite the Fontanka, Victor finds Yuuri facing the river, seated near the ledge of the roof on one of two foldable chairs and bundled up in a thick blanket. He can see as he approaches from behind that, aside from the chairs, Yuuri has set up a small space heater he must have pulled out from god alone knows which storage closet in the apartment, which is plugged into an extension that trails off to an unseen source of electricity. He has cleared the snow off a portion of the ledge, where he has set down his thermos and a box of tissues.

The world around the roof remains still and silent, though it is rapidly lightening. Pristine, untouched snow covers every rooftop and window ledge, including the buildings across the river. There are no people around that he can see, and scarcely any lights on in the windows of the surrounding buildings; Victor realizes that it is Sunday morning.

He approaches Yuuri quietly from behind and wraps his arms around his bulkily bundled form as he rests his chin on his head. Yuuri startles for a split second before relaxing into Victor’s embrace.

“ _Dobroye utro_ , Victor,” Yuuri murmurs; though his pronunciation is awkward, it is also correct, and it is the sweetest sound that Victor has ever heard.

“ _Ohayou_ , Yuuri,” Victor responds, heart swelling in contentment. He moves to sit on the other chair, his hand lingering on Yuuri’s back as he passes.

Yuuri turns to face him with a smile and a sniffle; his face is pink with cold, nose running a little. There is a small a pile of rather damp-looking used tissues next to the tissue box, but there is no real way to fight a runny nose in freezing weather.

Victor leans forward and kisses Yuuri’s soft, slightly chapped lips anyway, tasting coffee and cold.

“I missed you,” he whispers, and it sounds exactly like what feels like: a confession. “I woke up and thought that you coming here was a dream. I was probably still half-dreaming.” He laughs. It really was a ridiculous idea.

Yuuri frowns. “I’m sorry, Victor—”

“Vitya. Call me Vitya. You should have been doing that from ages ago.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri breathes, like the name is a gift. “I’m...sorry. I didn’t think that you would want to wake up together. But…it should have been obvious, now that I think about it.” He shifts in his seat nervously, eyes cast downwards. “I’ve ruined our first morning together, haven’t I.”

Victor can see Yuuri hunching his shoulders, shrinking his stature, making himself look smaller in the chair. As if he should be taking up less space in the world as punishment for his transgression.

Not even a year ago, Victor would have shied away from providing comfort, from protecting someone from their inner demons, from even letting someone else in close enough to allow the exchange of sad or upsetting feelings.

Four months ago, he would have thought to offer to kiss Yuuri’s fears away.

This sleepy January morning, chilled to the bone on a rooftop in Saint Petersburg with the entire world around them looking brand new covered in a thick blanket of snow, Victor cups Yuuri’s chin and lifts his gaze back up to meet his own.

“No,” he says firmly. “You haven’t ruined anything. My fiancé has invited me to watch the dawn of the first day of the rest of our lives with him, and I could not be happier that he is here. That _you_ are here, Yuuri.”

Victor has said he loves Yuuri more times than he can count, and he always reacts the same way that he is reacting now: eyes wide, lips slightly parted—a perfect portrait of awe. It is a stark contrast to the confidence and possessiveness of Victor that he displays to others, which always makes Victor’s blood sing—and yet, the two seemingly dichotomous behaviors fit, Victor realizes now, and almost certainly come from the same place as Victor’s near-paralyzing fear this morning: a fear of losing each other. _Ho paura di perderti…_

_Stay with me, don’t go._

He moves his hand to caress Yuuri’s cold-flushed cheek as he continues. “I love you very much, and I want to be with you forever. And if that means waking up every morning and spending it sitting on the roof while we freeze our asses off, I will be delighted to do so. All right?”

Yuuri gazes at him for a long moment before he finally responds. “All right. I love you, too, Vitya. So much.”

As if to seal the deal, he draws Yuuri and all of his blanket layers into his embrace. They stay like that for a while, Yuuri’s warm puffs of breath at the base of his neck condensing into a damp spot that will be uncomfortably cold when he pulls away.

After a few minutes, he feels Yuuri’s head turn to face the opposite side of the roof. “I can’t tell because of the buildings...but I think we missed the sunrise.”

Victor pulls back, but continues holding Yuuri’s shoulders without even bothering to look away from his face. “Oh, well. Guess we’ll have to try again tomorrow.”

Yuuri’s mouth twists in displeasure. “Maybe. This was honestly a terrible decision; I have no idea what I was thinking. The space heater’s no help. Maybe I won’t want to leave the bed tomorrow at all, hm?”

He says the last part with hooded eyes, and all of a sudden Victor is feeling very warm indeed.

“That sounds like a perfect idea to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> "Dobroye utro"/"Ohayou": "Good morning" in Russian and Japanese, respectively.  
> "Ho paura di perderti": "I'm afraid of losing you" in Italian, taken verbatim from the lyrics of Stammi Vicino. Thought it might seem a bit weird out of context. :)
> 
> The photos I used for reference for the bedroom are all from [this post](https://actuallyaflea.tumblr.com/post/153751956014/victors-apartment-pt-1), with [this photo in particular](https://78.media.tumblr.com/a3529969a1e0151bcb812e64ad212cd1/tumblr_ohbsywhhlI1vkx3dyo10_1280.jpg) used for the bed and hanging light fixtures and this photo for the curtains, the space near Yuuri's side of the bed where his suitcase is, and the low table where Victor's phone was.
> 
> I used [this meta](http://thatshamelessyaoishipper.tumblr.com/post/164848525567/so-where-does-victor-live-in-st-petersburg) as an easy reference for where Victor lives, and as such the view looking out to the river would be something like [this](https://goo.gl/maps/zd7dqXAvLLw), but of course from higher up. 
> 
> Check out [these sunrise and sunset times](https://www.timeanddate.com/sun/russia/saint-peterburg?month=1&year=2017) in Saint Petersburg for January 2017! Brutal.
> 
> You can totes buy Victor's Uggs [here](https://www.ugg.com/men-boots-classic-boots/classic-short-boot/5800.html#start=41&cgid=men-boots).
> 
> Hope you enjoyed - please leave a comment. I shall love you forever and ever!
> 
> Come yell with/at me on [Tumblr](http://themayflynans.tumblr.com).


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